


Written Off

by Sarcastic_Raspberry



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hoki Poki, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-05-02 01:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Raspberry/pseuds/Sarcastic_Raspberry
Summary: Loki and Peter grew up on opposite sides of the universe, but they always knew each other one way or another. Together, they try to figure out the nature of their connection.





	1. Prologue

“Oh Loki,” Frigga, pulling up his hand and scanning it momentarily. Brow furrowed, she said, “You need to stop writing on yourself.”

He considered telling the truth- that he had not written the message- but one look shared with his father over her shoulder told him it was better to say, “Yes mother,” and wrestle his hand away.

“I’ll take him to wash it off,” Odin said, stepping forward and guiding him to the doorway. “You can greet our guests and we will return in a moment.”

Frigga looked after them, only to smile and turn away as Loki was lead down the hall.

“I don’t know where they come from,” Loki insisted. “It’s not as though I  _ asked _ for them!”

“I know, Loki,” Odin said, sighing as he knelt in front of his son. Holding his hand, he traced over the runes. “These letters,” he smiled, “you don’t even know what they mean, do you?”

Loki shook his head furiously, taking in the look on his father’s face. For the first time that he’d ever seen, that look could have only been read as gentle.

“They are of a latin alphabet. Very old, but not as old as us,” he laughed.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Here,” he produced a pair of gloves. “You must wear these around other Asgardians.”

“But where are they coming from?”

“You must wear them,” he said, forcing them into Loki’s hands as he stood,  _ For Frigga’s sake. _

The remark went unsaid as Loki pulled on his gloves and prepared to walk down the hall. While Loki didn’t have a clue as to where these marks came from, he immediately assumed it had something to do with his  _ true  _ lineage. Frigga didn’t need this reminder, nor did Odin need a more educated Asgardian noting the writing. Part of him was just grateful that it was something less obvious than his skin turning blue. Another was perplexed at what the Frost Giants could want with the message, “Put Yondu’s beer in the fridge.”

* * *

 

Peter looked at the message with finality on his face as he walked down the bustling hull of the ship. A few of the Ravagers nodded at him in passing. He didn’t always have to write things like this down, but it had reached such a state of havoc that he was lucky to remember the little chores in between the bigger heists.

Kraglin stopped him with a grip on his shoulder as he walked, forcing him back a step.

“Watch it,” he said. “Captain wants you ready to head out in ten.”

“Okay,” peter said, stepping forward only to be blocked by Kraglin once gain.

“Oh- and he  _ may _ have said that… about seven minutes ago? Dunno, really.”

He smiled as he walked away, leaving Peter to run to the mouth of the ship with a scowl etched into his brow. Knowing that his menial task was going to be interrupted with something didn’t make it any better. 

“Hey- kid!” one ravager called after him, “You clean those ports yet?”

“Sorry- captain’s a-callin’!” he said, “I’ll do it when I get back!”

“You better, you  _ sod!” _

A chill went up his spine as he drew his pen out of his pocket to make yet another note.

By the time he was rounding the corner, he could hear Yondu yelling, “Has anyone seen that little shit!?”

“Right here!” Peter gasped as he rounded the corner, only stopping to slouch forward once he was in front of the group. “Sorry I’m late.”

A few laughs sounded around him as a heavy palm came down on his shoulder. When he looked up, Peter found that palm belonged to Yondu, who shoved him forward as he said, “Get in the ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like rare-pairs, okay?


	2. A Development

In his early teen years, Peter had really tried to grow out of writing on his arms. He knew it was juvenile, even unprofessional at times. It just became a habit to write down tasks as they were assigned and to revisit the notes late at night. Reassuring he hadn’t missed anything, he could go to sleep without worrying about waking up to Yondu splashing a bucket of water on him. At least, he wouldn’t have to worry about a _cold_ bucket of water.

As he began writing down the usual chorelist, he saw it immediately crossed out on his palm. He blinked at it for a moment before writing the item again, flinching away from his own hand when a black mark covered it almost as soon as he started writing it.

“What the-!?” he exclaimed.

Determined to not be beaten by this invisible marker, he wrote the note again. This time, he did so hunched over with a blanket pulled over his head.

Not even two letters in, it was crossed out.

“Fucking- augh!” he yelled, throwing off the blanket and stomping out of his room, pen in hand.

* * *

On Asgard, Loki had been looking at the newest note on his hand. It took forty seconds to fully appear. Once he’d crossed it out, it took over a minute for it to appear _again._ He crossed it out again. There was a long pause where he thought he’d finally defeated the mysterious entity that had fought him nearly his entire life.

Then the writing started again. After five seconds of watching a painstaking two letters appear on his hand, he crossed them out with a vengeance.

They stayed down this time and he smiled, though part of him knew the writing would come back.

This prompted him to fall backwards onto his bed.

He’d been testing this process for a while.

First, the indecipherable language would appear on his arm. Then they would stay there for roughly twenty-six or twenty-seven days only to disappear completely. Then he would have about _half_ of that time to prepare for a new batch of messages. Sometimes, they would repeat from the day before. Other times, those twenty-something days would leave him finding a new message had been added seemingly at random.

He’d considered all of the patterns possible for that, but there was just no way to predict it.

Luckily, the previously stated “schedule” was almost never broken. Only on occasion would twenty-six days turn into thirty-four or something of the like.

A shudder coursed through him as he remembered the near two months he’d sat thinking he’d forever be tattooed with this strange list. Luckily, it had disappeared once more.

This list was the most consistent thing about his life so far, and he would be _damned_ if he wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

“Yondu!” Peter yelled as he passed through the ship’s corridor, “Yondu!”

An arrow dropped in front of him, its fiery trail tracking its motion from an upper floor. Peter’s eyes followed said trail, finally landing on the blue man in a heavy coat.

“Don’t yell, boy- it ain’t polite!” he yelled.

“I need to talk to you!”

A few of the Ravagers sniggered as they turned away from the display.

Yondu himself only rolled his eyes and gestured to the stairs.

“You got legs?” he asked.

“Yea!?”

“Then get climbin’!” As he turned away from the balcony, he muttered a low, “Fuckin’ _brat,”_ before whistling his arrow back up to his quarters.

As soon as the door flew open again, Peter began rambling about the event with the mysterious marker.

Frustrated, Yondu just had to turn around for him to clamp his mouth shut. Then, pointing past Peter, he said, “Door.”

Immediately recognizing what was being asked of him, Peter turned around and closed the door. Now sealed in Yondu’s admittedly cluttered and messed quarters, he slouched back at his desk and propped up his legs.

“Now,” he picked up a box and began attempting to crack open the lock, “What is this about a marker?”

After a moment of stammering and walking in circles, Peter dug in his pocket and produced a pen saying, “This!” as if that would explain everything.

“Boy, that is a _pen._ Now, if that’s all that needed clearing up-”

“No- Yondu, look!” he came over and rolled up his sleeve, showing three lines of writing on his wrist on his wrist. “Ah- but they were crossed out and- _augh!_ What!?” Before Yondu could say anything, Peter wrote out his full name. “Just- _look!”_

They sat there for a while- about a minutes or so. Yondu allowed it while he continued fiddling with his box, even humoring the situation by looking back every now and again at the name.

Finally, more frustrated with the lock than anything, he slammed the box on the table and let out a sigh.

“Boy- what are you doin’ in here? I know you can write your name- you did a good job with that- now _get.”_

“No no, wait!” he insisted. “I swear, it was doing it really fast just a minute ago!”

He took the box back into his lap with a groan. “It did _what,_ exactly?”

“Th-That!”

Yondu jammed his screwdriver under the lock as he looked back, expecting to see the same name, only to watch as it was crossed out by seemingly nothing.

Without thinking, he jammed his hand downward, popping the lock off of the box.

* * *

Early in the morning, Loki jolted awake at a familiar sensation in his wrist.

This caused him to let out a low groan as he sat up, noting how the words hadn’t come off no matter how hard he’d scrubbed his own marker off.

Casting an illusion of a fire in his palm, he now had enough light to see what was written _this_ time.

Before he could even examine the words, something fell behind him.

Quickly, he jolted around and pointed the fire at whatever intruder _dared_ to enter the bedchamber of Loki Odinson.

There he saw the only man stupid enough.

“Thor?” he croaked. “Whatever are you doing in my room?”

Putting the fire away, he slithered down from his bed and quietly made his way across the room.

“Ah- yes,” Thor gave a low laugh, “I suppose you will be wanting an explanation for that.”

“Yes, and I am _waiting.”_ This time, Loki crossed his arms and glared.

While he stammered for an answer, Loki himself turned to the candle on top of his dresser and lit it. As he pulled his hand away, Thor reached out and caught his wrist.

“What’s this?” he asked, looking over the symbols. “Are _you_ cheating in your studies as well?”

“Cheating in- augh!” he wrenched his hand away. “These aren’t notes to fool some _tutor-_ we don’t even _study_ this language.”

Thor huffed and crossed his arms. “Well _I_ have to.”

Loki’s eyes grew wide as he looked up at Thor.

“You- You know this language!?” he pointed to his wrist.

“A bit of it,” Thor laughed. “It’s English, right?”

A wide grin spread across Loki’s face as he took a step forward. At the same time, Thor’s own face melted downward and he backed away.

“You can translate this?”

“Uh- yes, I believe so? Some of it, I mean, that just looks like a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes. Did Stigr not have you pick a name at the beginning of his lessons?”

“He hasn’t taught me _anything_ about this language. However, if _you_ do, then perhaps you can help me find out some more things about these markings?”

“Perhaps?” Thor agreed, not entirely sure what Loki needed him to do. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and it was apparent he’d had an idea. “What if I just provide you with my English book so that you can… _decipher_ the name on your wrist. In exchange, you can do my worksheets. For practice.”

“Yes, a good deal,” Loki said. _“Or,”_ the smile fell from Thor’s face, “You could allow me to borrow your English book, _help_ me understand these writings, and then tell me why you were trying to sneak off with one of my books. In return, I won’t turn you over to mother. Deal?”

Thor’s eyes went wide as he continued to stare at Loki.

Finally, he broke down with a sigh.

“I wanted your book on shapeshifting.”

Loki released a sigh of his own, levitating said book from the ground. “Perhaps we could teach each other a thing or two in a _true_ exchange?”

The book pressed into Thor’s hand, bringing a smile to cross over his face.

* * *

 

“Just what in the _hell_ was that!?” Yondu exclaimed, throwing the box from his lap. He didn’t watch as the contents spilled over the floor, his attention instead drawn to Peter’s arm. He held it firmly in his own hands, studying the black lines that suddenly appeared, crossing out the other writing. “What is this?”

“I know- I know!” Peter said. “Now, uh- can you let go? You’re kind of hurting me.”

Yondu dropped his arm without a word, looking down at the boy with a distant gaze.

An image of Ego rang out in his mind before he dispelled it completely and reached up to run a hand over his fin. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to steady before he said, “Alright- this’ll be okay, probably just a- a biology thing. Humans probably just got some weird-o camouflage shit you dunno about or something.”

“This doesn’t happen when I write stuff on my arm- it’s _never_ happened!”

“Maybe it’s just kickin’ in now? I don’t know! This is your species- aren’t you supposed to know a firm yes or no on weather or not your skin can change color?”

“Well, I mean- I got really red on that one planet, remember?” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I’m really a chameleon or something!?”

Yondu didn’t even know what that was.

Rather than worry Peter any further he settled on, “Look- I’m gonna get to the bottom of this. Until then- try writin’ on the other arm.”

“But, I can’t write with my other ha-”

“Boy- do you _wanna_ be a chameleon or nah’?”

“Nah sir- I mean- No sir!”

“Then write on your _other hand_ if you’re gonna write at _all!_ Don’t make me say it again, got it?”

“Ah- yes sir.”

“Good. I’ll see what I can dig up. Until then- chores as usual. Now get outta here.”

He shot Yondu a mock-salute as he made to back-peddle out of the room, slamming his back into the door before turning around, opening it, and then darting down the stairs.

“Well _shit!”_ he growled as soon he was sure Peter was gone, reaching up to touch his fin once more


	3. Working

The next day, Peter experimented holding the pen in his left hand. Examining it for a moment, he slowly worked on writing across his wrist. The first word- “Run-” was jagged. The “n” trailed off uncomfortably, and the “u” was almost entirely turned to the side. Still, he took some pride in how it came out, pausing to examine it before lifting his pen again.

Mysterious ghosts intent on drawing on his arms aside, they were still docked and wouldn’t stay that way forever. While they were on a relatively-friendly planet with low supplies, they needed to stock up. So, in a rare fit of “generosity-” a word Peter was almost _positive_ was being used incorrectly- the Ravagers actually decided to purchase some of those much-needed supplies. After all, there was no point in doing services for money if you didn’t get to spend a bit of it.

And “Spending it” was Peter’s personal job as the resident errand boy.

The list was posted on his door the night before and was now being jotted down on his non-dominant arm. He wouldn’t have even been writing on it at all if the fear of losing the paper list hadn’t persist in his mind.

He left his room after finishing the copy list, intending on dodging any and all Ravagers who would ask him to pick up something special. This usually ranged from booze to parts for pet-projects and back to booze. When Kraglin caught him by the shoulder, however, he knew he was in for something special.

“What do _you_ want?” he asked.

“Thought you might be needing this,” he smiled, dropping a units chip into Peter’s hand.

“This isn’t gonna be enough for everything.”

“Yea, ‘cause you’re getting the money for your little list from Tullk. This is so that you can grab me some dreikion crystals while you’re out.”

“What do you need those for?”

“What do you need to _breathe for?”_

“To live? What kind of question is tha-”

“Don’t get smart with me!”

“Then I guess I’m not gonna ‘get’ _anything…_ with you…”

Kraglin stared at him for a moment, brow raised before he said, “Look, I put the units in there. There should be a fella named Elkaro. I know his prices. You’ll get me _three_ and won’t have no change- got it?”

“Got it,” he grumbled as Kraglin walked away, leaving him to roll up his sleeve and add “dreikon crystals” to his list.

* * *

 

Silence had filled the room, Loki focusing intently on his wrist. Thor was next to him at the table, eyes flickering between the arm and Loki’s own face. The words from the before had long disappeared- almost a full month had passed with countless lessons- but now Loki insisted Thor sit with him to watch them “reappear,” in order to get the most faithful translation, of course.

Thor couldn’t remember another time his brother wore short sleeves, but that was the strangest thing about that afternoon so far.

“Loki-”

“They’ll be here,” he insisted, “it’s not always the same time, but it’s been long enough.”

Silence ticked by.

“Just how long have these words been… _writing themselves_ on your arm?”

“Since we were boys,” Loki adjusted himself. “Father said not to tell you, nor should either of us tell mother. He wants to hide something about them- I know that much, though I do not know why.”

“And you think that’s why you don’t have to learn,” he resisted the urge to groan, _“English?”_

“Yes, that’s what I believe to be true.”

They watched his wrist again until Thor finally let out an expressive groan and stood up.

“I’m done, Loki- I won’t indulge this game any further!”

“Thor- this is no _game!_ This is the _truth!_ Do you think I would try to learn an entire language just to trick you into staring at my wrist for an hour?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Thor-”

 _“Loki,_ you once laid out as a carpet in the dining hall so that I may step on you. Do you remember that?”

“Yes…”

“How long did you wait?”

“Over three hours- but this is serious! A month-long ruse ending in you thinking I was _mad!?_ Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t think I need to answer that.”

He gave a cheeky smile before dropping it and crossing the room to leave entirely.

“Thor, wait!” Loki said, running over to catch his shoulder and turn him around. “Now- I know I haven’t been the best brother to you- but I need you to aid me in discovering the purpose of these- these _words!_ They have been nothing but a plague my life ever since we were young, and I believe that finding their purpose could… It could make me feel-”

“Loki-”

“It could make me feel some semblance of-”

“Loki!”

“Thor, I understand if you don’t want to believe me, but this is very difficult and I-”

“Loki-” Thor grabbed Loki’s arm the one neither of them had been watching, and forced his brother to look at it directly, “your arm!”

They both looked at it frantically now, Thor standing at Loki’s side to read along with him as the word was seemingly carved into his wrist.

Loki shook slightly in his grasp- half out of glee and half out of fear.

“What does it say?” he asked.

“Ah-” Thor began, “I believe it says… ‘R…’ ‘Run.’ It says run.”

 _“What!?”_ Loki shrieked, “Run from what?”

“It just says ‘Run.’”

With that, Loki wrenched his hand away and threaded his fingers through his hair.

“Loki- is this part of your trick as well?”

“No!” he said. “Are you insinuating that I would do this as a joke, as well?”

“Well, the jagged handwriting? It seems kind of obvious, don’t you think?” Loki shot him a look. “Don’t give me that look! I’m sorry I’m not so trusting towards my manipulative, little brother.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!”

As he faced his wrist forward to make a point, Thor took in a breath, “There are more words!”

Loki immediately turned his arm to see when Thor turned it back towards him and read, “‘Run… to the trader-’ no wait, it’s market! ‘Run to the market- need…’ and then… it looks like a shopping list?”

“A shopping list?” Loki said, pulling his face back. “My entire life I’ve been haunted by a _shopping list!?”_

“It would appear so? Perhaps they’re ingredients for a spell your arms want you to perform.”

Loki looked down thoughtfully before nodding. “Perhaps…”

“No wait, nevermind!” Thor laughed, “There are some words I don’t know, but I see _‘nails_ .’ Now, that could mean the things on your finger or the bits of iron used in construction. But… I see _‘drill_ ,’ so I believe this must be farm equipment of a sort?”

“So my arms wish for me to build something?”

“A new line is starting- your arms write so _slowly-_ it’s somewhat pitiful.”

“What does it say!?”

“I’m waiting for it to finish!” he stared at the words, turning Loki’s willing arm in his hands to read at a better angle. “ _‘Kr- Kraglin-’_ don’t know what that word means. Oh, it’s a name I think.”

“You _think?”_

“Loki, please- ‘Kraglin wants-’ Oh they’re crossing out ‘Kraglin…’ They wrote ‘Shithead-’ must have misspelled it.”

“Those names don’t sound similar at all.”

“Then you ask your own arms what they mean!”

“Sorry, sorry! Please continue.”

“Thank you,” Thor scoffed, somewhat pleased with hearing his brother genuinely apologize for once. “‘Shithead wants…’ Um… _something,_ ‘crystals.’”

“Crystals? So it is a spell! Perhaps the _nails_ were in reference to the nails of an enemy or something of the kind.”

“I- I don’t know,” Thor confessed. “But it looks like they’re done talking.”

Loki scowled as Thor released his hand, seeing the writing with new eyes. It was still indecipherable- even more so. Before, he could have tricked himself into thinking they meant anything he wanted. Now, however, he found himself clenching his fist and walking back to the table to reach for the ink and brush he’d set there earlier.

“Wait!” Thor said, reaching out. “Why cross it out?”

“It’s a _blight,”_ Loki said, “Crossing it out stops it for a while… most of the time.”

“Covering it up won’t get rid of it,” Thor grumbled.

“I know,” Loki agreed, taking out the brush and crossing out the first line.

“Now- hold on! Do you want to know what these things are or not?”

“Why do you _care_ what I do about it?”

Thor stammered for a moment before crossing his arms. “I suppose I don’t,” he said finally. “Maybe I just thought you _did.”_

“Now that I know it’s just some- some- _foreign_ ritual and not addressed to me in any specific way? No- I could really care less.”

“And I suppose our deal is off, as well?”

“I’ve exchanged the bare minimum on shapeshifting with you, just as you have taught me the basics of the English language,” he turned around, “It isn’t my fault I just happened to take to your teachings better than you took to mine.”

Thor outwardly sighed at that before turning around and leaving, slamming the large door behind him.

Loki had half a mind to pick up his forgotten English book and throw it down the hall after him. That was when a telling sensation crossed his wrist, forcing him to put the book down.

He’d be needing it, after all.

* * *

 

“Hey kid,” Tallk said as he approached. “Heading out already?”

“Yea,” Peter hissed, “before anyone else decides they want anything.”

“That mean I can’t ask you for some spare fuel?”

“Depends, you got extra units for me?”

“Ah _ha!_ That’s the way you _do_ things, kid,” he wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders, “but it’s in pretty _shit_ taste to ask _family_ to pay for a _favor,_ got it?” Peter nodded as he was shoved away and handed the rest of the units. “Good- now get lost before the other guys find you, huh?”

“Yea- see ya later!” he said, making his way to the front of the base.

Once out in the open air, he was surprised when the first smell wasn’t one of metal and smog but of _food_ . As much as he wanted to follow after it, he knew that time was being wasted as it was and it was better to buy what he needed before worrying about his next meal. After all, if he didn’t come back with the parts and ammo, he would probably be the _crew’s_ next meal. No sooner did he step forward did he feel an odd, _wet_ sensation cross his arm. This prompted him to groan and check what it was, noting that the first line of his list had been crossed out.

“God _damn it!”_ he groaned, uncapping his pen.

He had been prepared to write the first line again, but then he thought for a second about the incident in his room.

Taking a breath, he switched to his dominant hand and wrote, _"What do you want?"_

 


	4. I Have Questions

Considering the previously delayed reaction of his “ghost,” Peter didn’t expect the response to be…  _ immediate. _

Still, he expected something, even if it was just the words being crossed out. As things were, it actually stopped the rest of his list from disappearing as he sighed and made his way to the edge of the market.

Between the mixed bag of sympathetic and hateful vendors- both groups fully aware of his relation to the Ravagers- he found himself checking his wrist constantly for any response possible. After mistaking a freckle for the start of a letter, he almost dropped the three bulbs he was carrying. That, he decided, would be the last time he checked his wrist for a while.

That didn’t stop him from flinching at every sensation that crossed his arm. The bags he was carrying twisting against his skin nearly drove him mad as he separated the thought of their touch from that of a phantom pen.

Contacting this entity brought about an anxiety that kept in his head until he made it back to the base. As soon as he stepped inside, a hand came down on his shoulder. Flinching upwards, a particularly heavy box fell from his grip.

“Woah, calm down!” Tallk laughed.

“Ah- sorry, I-”

“Did you get the fuel?”

“What?”

“The  _ fuel? _ Remember- I asked you for it when you got-”

“Oh yea! Right.” He sifted the bags from his arms, gently placing them on the ground as he knelt down. Opening the box he’d previously dropped, he settled on handing over the most damaged container, knowing the same guy who asked him to spend some of the  _ clan’s _ money on  _ personal _ fuel wouldn’t say much.

“Thanks,” Tallk said, taking the container with one hand. “See ya later, kid.”

“Couldn’t even help me carry this stuff back?” Peter huffed as soon as he was gone.

With a sigh, he rolled up his sleeve. His words weren’t crossed out, nor was anything added in the time it had taken him to come back. He watched it for a while before he started working on picking up the bags.

* * *

 

It took Loki a full day to decipher the single  _ sentence _ on his arm.

“I can’t do this,” he said, throwing himself against the table. Face pressed against it, he looked at his outstretched wrist with a heavy glare. What was the point of telling him these messages if he couldn’t understand what they meant in the first place?

He’d always had a fantasy that some divine prophecy had claimed him as the savior of Asgard, or something of the like. Seeing these messages, he’d thought there was finally a purpose in his life greater than that of a prince. He’d thought that understanding them would make make his purpose clearer. Now as he stared at the scribbles, they only confused and taunted him.

“What do you mean, ‘What do  _ I _ want!?” he hissed, grappling with his wrist until he was leaning back in his chair.

* * *

 

A few days passed, and Peter hadn’t told Yondu about the line’s reappearance, nor did he write on his arm. It was admittedly hard the first day, as he had found himself reaching for a pen that wasn’t there when someone asked him to do something. It was even stranger later in the day, when he looked down to see if he had anything else to do. That almost proved a problem until he settled in.

_ Fuck it, _ he’d thought,  _ If they want me to do anything else- I’ll do it tomorrow. _

He hadn’t forgotten anything yet, though the fear that he had persisted.

* * *

 

Anger bubbled in Loki’s stomach as his eyes locked on his wrist, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

His wrist had been clear for almost  _ four _ months. Thor had bounced back after their “fight,” though he never did return for his book. Loki’d kept and studied it in preparation for more words to actually translate. Still, there was only so much he could learn from text. He would have no true understanding of if he was right or not, but he knew enough to read and guess.

All of that effort would go wasted if he didn’t have more clues to translate.

Raising his palm, he stared at it longingly until he felt a presence rise behind him.

“Your gloves have been missing.”

He turned to see Odin towering over him, brow raised in a silent question.

“Yes father, as the need for them has seemingly,” he raised his arms, “disappeared.”

The brow lowered and a small smirk even dared to cross his features.

“Is this a trick of shapeshifting?” he asked, turning a single hand over to examine either side.

“No they’re just,” he waited for Odin to release his hand, “Not coming back.”

“Very good. See to it they don’t return, by any means necessary.”

“Will do, father,” he said with a forced smile as the large man disappeared down the hall.

As soon as he was gone, Loki straightened his back and marched defiantly towards his room before slamming his door tightly shut. Fingernails scraping on the wood behind him, he allowed himself a moment to rest against it and think about what he should do next.

_ Why does it always feel as though I’m  _ losing  _ to you!? _ he asked, unsure if he was aiming the question towards his father or his own arm. Deciding on the latter, he rolled up the sleeve of his non dominant hand and picked up the English book he’d stowed in the back of his shelf.

Brush raised, he prepared a message for his little curse.

* * *

 

And so Peter woke up in the middle of the night to find streaks appearing across his arm. Stumbling across his bed, he almost fell into the foot-wide crack between it and the wall as he reached for the lightswitch.

After he slammed his hand over it, he pulled himself back onto his bed to read it over. The furious, wet lapping had left him with a broken sentence: “ _ Who you are?” _

He recoiled, pulling out a pen and writing “ _ Peter,” _ without thinking and letting out a snort. Quickly, he added, _ “duh” _

The briefest of moments passed, as if whatever force was writing hadn’t read his note at all, before it began writing again.

_ “What duh?” _

Apparently, it had read his message.

_ “Stop writing on me!” _

He huffed after writing it, clenching the pen in his fist as he slammed it onto the sheets. There was this rapidly growing idea that this thing could have been talking to him in the past week but, instead, it was just freaking him out.

And now it had the audacity to write,  _ “Stop writing on I.!” _

He groaned and stood up quickly, pacing about as he wrote,  _ “Your my arm Im alloud to write on you” _

_ “What mine? What alloud?” _

_ “Stop it!” _

_ “You write first.” _

_ “You wrote first” _

The pen was digging into his arm, leaving a bruising sensation as he neared running out of room on his arm. And so the argument continued, this time switching to his other arm and then his chest, which put them at a standstill for a while. When a long moment of silence passed, he smiled and held up his chin, thinking he’d won, when the door to his room slid open, leaving Yondu in the mouth of it.

Glaring, he entered and yelled, “Boy- what is you doin’ up at-” his eyes rested on the writing on Peter’s skin before widening  as he charged at Peter to hold up his arm in examination. “What is this!?”

“It wrote first!” he said, “Look,” he held up his left arm, “It asked what my name was so I-”

“Kid-” he dropped his arm with a sigh, running his fingers over his brow. “I told you not to write on yourself, and what do you go and do? Start up a whole  _ novel  _ on your body!?”

“Technically- you said I could write on my other arm-”

“Don’t get smart with me-”

“And then it crossed out what I was writing again so I stopped  _ completely!  _ It just wrote tonight- I didn’t  _ ask _ for a ghost to write words on me!”

“I didn’t say you  _ did!”  _ Yondu let out a suffering sigh that turned into a grunt about halfway through before he grabbed Peter by the wrist and yanked him into the hall.

“Ah-  _ hey, _ where are we going?”

“You’re gonna wash that shit off!” he said, “Then you’re gonna get to  _ sleep  _ while I call a human to sort all of this out!”

Peter’s eyes widened, “There are humans in space? Like- not just xandarians but real  _ humans?” _

Yondu pulled him infront of him, pressing a finger into his chest with narrowed eyes as he said, “I’m doing this to get you back to acting like a normal monkey, got it?” He backed away, dropping Peter’s arm as his hand raked over his face and he shook his head. “I’ve been puttin’ this off for a  _ long  _ time.”

“Are these humans like… worse than us or something?”

“This  _ single _ human used to be quite the thorn in my ass. She used to hang around here when you's was younger- just so I could learn what you ate and stuff like that- if I could use you as a mascot or if you needed a box to sleep in- just basic livestock care.”

Peter cringed.

“When you got older- I said my goodbyes and never looked back,” he groaned and threw up his coat in a flurry as he continued walking towards the showers, “didn’t think I’d have to.”

Peter walked into the showers, disrobing and starting the water.

Yondu didn’t follow inside, giving him a taste of privacy- something that was rare on the Ravager ship, which worked more like a never ending camping trip than a true ship at all.

He found that taste muted when, no sooner had he started scrubbing did Yondu continue talking through the walls.

“This chick,” he began, “is a little… out there. So, if we have to go meet her- which we might- you stay close to me, got it? I’m not findin’ no new errand boy this late in the game, okay, you have a debt to pay and it won’t get payed back  _ or _ forth if you go dyin’ on me in some way stupid.”

Peter didn’t respond.

“You got that?”

Still no response.

“Peter-!”

Instead of responding to either the statement or the question asked, Peter poked his head out and presented his arm, eyes wide as he said, “They won’t come off.”

Yondu made a face, grabbing the wet skin and twisting it around, as if it would provide some unique answer if only he could get a better look. He allowed himself to breathe a little harder, to screw his face slightly and drop Peter’s arm. His wide eyes searched the top of Peter’s torso for any clue he could use to solve this mystery. He wanted to see the answer as plainly as he saw the words on his skin.

“This is english,” he said, looking through the translators for a second and crossing his arms. “Makes sense it’d be a human thing…”

“So you think this guy’ll have the answer?”

_ Not sure,  _ he thought, instead saying, “Sure do. Just put down the pen for the night- get some sleep instead. If Kraglin or anyone else tries to wake you up- tell them you have my  _ explicit _ and  _ rare  _ permission to tell them to ‘Fuck off.’ Only cause you’s is sick though, got it?”

A smile broke out across Peter’s face as he clung to the shower door way, wet hair sticking to his face.

“Really?” he asked.

“This one time, got it?”

“Got it!” he chirped, rushing to finish getting cleaned.

When he was out of view and Yondu knew he was alone, he allowed himself to smile, too.

* * *

 

When Thor opened the door to Loki’s bedchamber, he was sure to find his brother sleeping in. If not sleeping in, then maybe out of the room entirely. If not out of his room, then perhaps he’d be sitting in a corner of it with a tome of some sort.

He didn’t expect to find his brother crying rage-filled tears through tired eyes while writing hate-charged words on his own leg in the broken words of some language he himself barely understood.

“Loki-” he yelped, basically falling to the ground to look over his body, reading the words written there and finding two sets of handwriting as he pawed at his own brother’s flesh for an answer, “What is this-?”

“This is my  _ curse-! _ This demon that runs its way through my flesh and taunts me with these permanent words without meaning or respite, nor a care for my way of life-” he took a long breath, which stuttered and broke on his sobs and eventually fell into a fit of choking and coughing as he reluctantly leaned towards Thor.

The latter reciprocated, holding him close as he continued to spill years of blind misery into the open air.

“This is all because I made first contact,” he relented. “It’s never been this bad before, but now-” he sniffled again, pulling back and laying a hand across his mouth.

“Loki, perhaps it’s time to bring father into this?”

That lit something inside of him- a short fuse that had gone silent and unignited until that moment.

“Get out,” he muttered, eyes wide as he pulled away from Thor’s arms.

“Loki-”

_ “Get out!” _

Thor jumped at that, standing quickly yet solemnly with his eyes trained on his brother where he lay, eyes filled with sharp hatred that cut deeper than any other look he’d thrown before.

As he left, he knew they’d move past this.

He knew they would because they always did.

They always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long time for an update- I know- but some stuff has been going on and I had some trouble with plotting ahead for this so there were some things I had to sort out in this chapter specifically.  
> glad to see we've grown a little since I last checked this tag though!!!


	5. You Have Answers

No matter how hard he scrubbed, Loki felt as though the ink would never fully leave his body. He’d spent most of the day in his room, wrapping himself a dressing robe he barely cared to tie closed to talk to the maid that came to wake him up.

She had barely seen his face before a hand came over her mouth. The other crossed his forehead as she scuttled off, leaving Loki to bury himself into the sheets.

If they thought he was sick, then that would work out fine.

His mother had even come to see him, sitting behind him on the bed and running a soothing hand through his hair.

For a moment, he considered throwing off the blankets and demanding answers as to why she couldn’t see the runes from which so much pain had spread. A vision of Odin’s eye, full of silent rage, visited him and quickly killed that moment.

Thus nothing was said between them, and yet she seemed to understand, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple before she stood.

“Rest now, my son,” she whispered. “Your studies have already been cancelled for the day.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the word “mother” dying in his throat as he turned his face into the sheets.

Even without looking, he could feel the warmth of her smile on him, the sound of her footsteps filling the room as she made her way towards the door.

Then they stopped.

“What is this?” she asked.

He picked up his head lazily, just barely in time to catch her reaction as her eyes met the cover of the English text book.

“Is this not of  _ Thor’s?” _

“He-” Loki croaked, stopping when Frigga looked at him, causing him to sink into the sheets. “He had lent it to me.”

“I did not know you were studying English… I only learned a fraction of it myself, as it was not necessarily a favorite of mine.”

“I was not. At least, not formally.”

She chuckled, replacing the book on his table.

“Always looking for new trades, huh?”

She gave another laugh as she walked towards the door.

“Sweet dreams,” she echoed.

The door closed before Loki thought to whisper another “Thank you,” and turn back over in bed.

Flashing forward to the moment in the bath, he shoved the memory away from him, instead focusing on his moment of solitary grief. The room was dark, as it was usually illuminated by the light drifting in from the thinly curtained windows during the day. Now, in the dead of night, only a pair of candles from his room about a foot apart held the honor of lighting his way. They painted strange shadows along the stone, which glimmered in larger areas where water had been spilled in his efforts to remove the words he himself had put there.

Even more water consumed him as he slid downward, lounging outward and weighing the pros and cons of smashing the washing basin, if only to give his hands something to do other than scrape against the bottom of the tub. Each movement of his fingernails against the marble gave off a sound that he could only feel, as it was muffled by the water.

He decided against it, slipping down suddenly to submerge half of his face with a huff that sprayed water upwards before laying his head onto the floor just outside of the tub. As his eyes met the ceiling, he clenched his hands to halt the sensation.

This “Peter Duh” didn’t have a face.

There was no one for him to be angry at or to actually fight back against. There was only his own flesh, the words that appeared on it, and the words he put there.

* * *

 

For the first time in his life, Peter wished someone had come to wake him up, if only to abuse the privilege granted to him the night before.

As it was, he had slid out of bed at the respectable hour of eleven in the morning, stretching and relishing in the fact that he didn’t have any work to do that day.

The schedule had been cleared out for him and Yondu to take a two-man trip across the system for some answers.

“Now remember what I told you,” he said, already docking the ship, “Stay-”

“‘-next to you,’ I know,” he droned back, already looking out the window as they landed safely beside what looked to be a bar of some kind, its exterior encrusted with rust from the planet’s unforgiving atmosphere.

Before he got out, Yondu pulled him back by the arm and began to wrap a scarf tightly around his head.

“Hey- what are you-?”

“Quiet- That’s pure  _ smog _ outside, and I’m not gonna have you drop dead on top of whatever’s happening to your arms. And hey- don’t think this is anything more than me takin’ care of an investment. I put a lot of time and effort into making sure you’re alive and doin work for me- I can’t keep doing that if you need your arms chopped off, got it?”

Peter pulled the fabric away from his eyes so that he could look Yondu in the eyes as he nodded.

“Good,” he said, opening up the ship and pulling Peter out after him. “Now stay next to me.”

He did, not sure of where he could run off to before a pair of doors opened, each letting out a hiss of air as they revealed a room full of aliens, each sat at various tables.

As if on autopilot, Yondu lead him in the direction of one of the tables, coughing loudly to attract the attention of the woman perched there.

She turned around, dark hair and eyes striking through them both, though all of Peter’s attention was focused on the yellow jacket hanging from the back of her chair, a piece of metal and circuitry sewn into its hood. His eyes widened, barely recognizing the material.

“Yondu,” she crowed as soon as she laid eyes on them, pulling an arm over the back of her chair and pulling her chin downward with a grin. “Thought you were running late.”

“And keep you waiting? Never,” he laughed. “Good to see you, Rita.”

“Come on- first time meeting face to face in, what? Almost a decade? That long and you let the first thing out of your mouth be a pair of lies?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he forced a laugh, “my bad.”

She smiled, looking towards Peter and tilting her head.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

“I remember the jacket,” he said, gesturing to the garment.

“Who doesn’t?” she chirped. “I’d tell you where I got it, but… that might not be the best story.” She shoved herself up from the table. “Not for a first impression. Oh well- not like they have any more in stock anyway. Now come on, I’ve got a better place for us to talk.”

Yondu made a face, not flinching as Peter moved to follow her.

A hand grabbed his arm, wrenching him backwards so that Yondu could growl into his ear, “Remember- stay by my side.”

Peter gave a dull nod as he was released, standing behind his captain this time as they both followed her this time.

Weaving amongst the tables, they entered a room Peter would have mistaken for an unmarked bathroom if the lights were any dimmer, due to its position in the bar and the smell once they were inside.

The door closed and lights were turned on, showing that it was actually a meeting room of sorts with a few sets of suspicious stains on the barren walls and tattered floor. A table sat in the center, eight chairs circling it. Rita ignored them, choosing to sit on the table as she brought some kind of cigarette to her lips.

“So,” she lit it and took a long draw, “what’s the emergency you had to track me down for?”

Yondu’s eyes shifted to Peter, nodding once before he looked at Rita once more.

He awkwardly shuffled forward, rolling up the sleeve of his coat and taking a marker to it.

There he wrote the word “Hello,” keeping it shown towards Rita all the while.

“Wow,” she said, dispelling the smoke from her lungs in one long breath, “You taught him that? Amazing, most scholars can’t write ‘Hello,’ without years of-”

“Look!” Peter yelped, already feeling the slick of something crawling across his arm.

Yondu stepped forward, watching the marks appear. He snapped upwards to look at Rita, gesturing to Peter’s arm as he said, “That! That’s what we came here for!”

Rita’s eyes were wide, flicking between the two of them.

“Really?”

“Yes really!”

Then she was laughing, loudly and wildly. She doubled over, almost crushing the cigarette in her hand as she fought the instinct to pull it to her face.

“You got so worried that you sought me out- of all people- over the kid’s first experience with his soulmate?”

Peter immediately shot back, grabbing his wrist and holding it to his chest.

“My  _ what?” _

“Soul. Mate.” She took another hit of the cigarette and let it out as she explained, “You have a bond with someone you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Some bonds are platonic, some are romantic- all of them act the same. If you write something on your body, it appears on theirs. They write something on their body, it appears on yours. Same for scars and even some bruises, if they last long enough. Can’t feel pain though, thank God,” she rolled her eyes and took another hit.

“Now wait one  _ damn _ minute-” Yondu said, “This whole thing is just a human  _ mating  _ ritual!?”

“Hey, like I said, it  _ could _ be platonic,” she said, pointing at him harshly. “I’m surprised you never heard about them,” she addressed Peter this time. “They’re kind of a big deal on earth. At least- they were last time I was there. Hell- the government had a whole branch researching them in the eighties.”

“I- I…” he looked down, trying to think about anything similar to this. He remembered something about Danny and Sandy comparing scars in  _ Grease, _ but that had seemed so insignificant amongst the rest of the story.

“Your mom never told you?” Rita asked, “I kind of envy you honestly. My mom never stopped going off about how she finally met my dad face to face.”

“My mom didn’t-”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense! What’d your mystery penpal write?”

Peter raised his arm, but before he could read what was written, Yondu shoved him towards the door saying, “Thanks for the tip. We won’t be coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me months ago: Hey guys I'll get a new chapter up in a week!!!!  
> Now: I have no excuse I am so sorry.  
> In other news- Yellow Jacket (Rita DeMara) is an actual Marvel Character- one of the original Guardians of the Galaxy. I figured this'd be fun because Yondu and Starhawk make canon appearances.

**Author's Note:**

> I like rare-pairs, okay?


End file.
